by Nina Bocci
“I’m sure that you both have questions. I will answer as best I can, but I’d like to say something to start. Rose had these sent to me after she died. I don’t know why. I put them away because they hurt too much to look at. I’ve never opened them; therefore, I have no idea what’s inside. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead—we all know that your mother had a great many problems and flaws, but know this—whether it was right or wrong, I do believe that in her own way she loved you. Keep that in mind when you’re looking through these.”
I nodded, unable to speak. The boxes weren’t sealed with tape, just folded over, making them easy to open. The first box had my mom’s childhood stuff: some report cards, a lot of photos that I’d never seen before, and one of her and my father that he had never seen before, judging by his pained reaction. You could see there was once a great love there—at least on his end. He held the photo reverently, touching her face lightly before setting it aside.
“This was when we got married at the Borough Building. She always said she never got a photo.” He didn’t look sad so much as resigned. Dad had many years to get over the heartbreak he suffered at her hands. I was hoping that this wouldn’t open those wounds back up.
The second box was filled with some things that represented my mom’s life in Hope Lake with my father. A copy of their marriage license and my birth certificate. A couple of pictures of me as a kid that I’d never seen. It wasn’t the same as the rest of my memory lapse, but that I was far too young to have any clear memory of them.
The third I assumed would be more of the same. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I opened the top and my hand flew to my mouth. Pulling out the chair beside me, I sat, taking the box onto my lap to dig through easily.
Stacks upon stacks of envelopes were inside. At least a hundred, but they weren’t like the ones that were coming now. These were addressed in a young person’s unsure script.
Charlotte Bishop c/o Rose Bishop
644 E. 76th St Apt 4
New York, NY 10021
“What. How?” I mumbled, sifting through the envelopes. They were all postmarked from the day we left Hope Lake until about three years later. “They stopped when we moved apartments,” I said, holding up the first one.
“Oh dear,” Gigi said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I was afraid of that.”
“What are these?” My hands shook as I tried opening the first one. “I can’t get it, they’re still sealed. I need one of those openers.”
I jumped from the chair and slid into my grandfather’s office. I remembered seeing one that day I was in there with Gigi. Running back into the dining room, I saw the side-eye the two doctors gave me for running with a sharp object.
“Andrew, I need help with a thing. Let’s leave her alone for this part,” Gigi insisted.
“If it’s all the same to you, Mother, I’ll stay. I’d like to see what this is.”
As she wheeled out, she ran over my father’s foot with her wheelchair.
“Ouch!”
“See, now you have to come with me. Put some ice on it, you’ll be fine.”
Dad looked worried but followed after his mother.
When they left, I hurried to open the first envelope as gently as I could. The paper was thin and old—being stuffed away in the attic didn’t help much—but there wasn’t anything I could do about that now.
I slipped my fingers inside the envelope and pulled out the first note, somehow recognizing the childlike printing immediately.
Dear Charlotte,
We had a math test today. It was easy but it wasn’t the same without you sitting next to me. I brought Lego for recess, but no one wanted to play with me. Are you coming back soon? I hope so. I miss you.
Love your best friend,
Henry
The next few were much of the same. Various silly details that ten-year-olds care about, and all ending with requests hoping for the same outcome. For me to come back to Hope Lake.
My best friend.
The tears started around the fourth letter. By the twentieth, I could barely read them through the waterworks.
Not a single letter was opened, which meant not one was responded to and yet … not a single letter lost the hopefulness that I would come back. With the very last letter in my hand, I collapsed onto the dining chair, staring at all the aged envelopes.
I wasn’t sure how or when the memories of Henry would come back. I had hoped that I’d remember him. How we were and what he meant to me. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held some of the letters in my hand.
In my mind, I saw two kids as they climbed the front steps of Hope Lake Elementary. The boy was wearing pants that were a smidge too short and the girl carried a LEGO Stormtrooper in her hand.
Immediately, I knew they were us. In the memory, we turned around to wave to our parents, who were standing by their cars: Henry’s mom and dad, and my dad and Gigi, my mother nowhere to be found. I remembered that day. The first day of kindergarten when she said she had a headache and for them to take me without her.
Then another memory came. Henry dressed as Indiana Jones and me as a magnificent peacock, a costume that Gigi labored over for a month because it had to be perfect and she wasn’t the craftiest person.
The last memory that came was on Valentine’s Day, a few months before I left, when Henry brought me in a cupcake that he made all by himself. On it was a shaky C and a lumpy H in syrup.
And it tasted terrible.
But I smiled and ate the whole thing.
Henry.
“There has to be a reason why I couldn’t remember you,” I whispered, wiping at the tears on my cheeks.
At the very bottom of the stack was a letter in my mother’s scrawl. It simply read Imogen. Something from my mother to Gigi was unexpected, especially after Gigi explained how they didn’t speak. The temptation was to call her in to explain herself, but then I saw that it, too, was unopened.
Slipping my finger under the seal, I opened it and steadied myself.
Imogen,
You never thought I was right for taking her away from that place, and Andrew. And you. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it was my choice to give her a chance to grow up outside of that bubble. To experience things that I didn’t. I trust you’ll know what to do with these things. Take care of my girl.
Rose
That was it. No explanation other than my growing up outside of Hope Lake.
I went to find Gigi and my dad.
I didn’t have to look very far. They were giving me space by staying in the entryway: my dad sitting on the steps, his head in his hands much like the day we left; Gigi in her chair beside him, her hand resting on his knee.
“Dad, I need to borrow your car.”
“The keys are in it.”
“Please call Duncan and Birdy and tell them not to pull me over. I’ll go to Mount Hazel for the driving test this weekend if that helps ease the sting of my breaking the law. Again.”
I kissed them both before heading out the door and into the light drizzle that had started up again.
Eventually, I found what I thought was Nick and Henry’s street. Sure enough, I pulled up in front of the double-block that had the ancient Jeep Wrangler in front of it.
“But which side?” I asked the pale-gray-sided house. Lights were on in both front rooms and upstairs in the house on the right.
I took a shot and knocked on that one.
And Nick answered thirty seconds later. “Hey, hey, are you okay? Why all the tears?” he asked, pulling me into the house without a word from me.
Inside, I broke down again. Glancing in the small mirror by the door, I sighed. “I look like a mess.” My freckles were more pronounced with my skin being so blotchy. My gray eyes looked even paler than usual, and they were puffy and watery.
“Are you looking for Henry?” Nick asked, pointing to the letter I still had clutched in my hand.
I nodded, holding it against my stomach. It’s not that I
didn’t want Nick to see it, I just didn’t want to explain it to anyone but Henry just yet.
“He’s next door.”
“Thanks, Nick,” I said, giving him a quick hug.
I left Nick’s and walked over to stand in front of Henry’s door. If there was a doorbell, I couldn’t see it. I placed my sweaty hand flat against the shiny red-painted wood of the door. My nerves were making it shake.
A moment later, the doorknob turned. Henry stood on the other side looking like he’d just been in the middle of a rigorous workout.
“That’s not fair,” I mumbled, lowering my eyes to examine the cracks on the cement landing.
“What’s not?” he asked, taking a step forward. Looking up through my lashes, I saw him glance up and down the street.
Absently, I motioned to his naked, sweaty chest. “Do you have a shirt? Or I’ll give you mine?”
He choked, a mix between a laugh and a cough. “Out of the two of us, I think it’s safer for you to remain clothed.”
In your opinion.
I nodded, making sure that the envelope I carried was protected from the drizzle and his prying eyes. Asking him about it was something that I had to work up to.
“Did you want to come in?” he asked, moving to the side so I could enter. When I paused, he took a step forward. “Or I can come out there.”
“No, no, I’m coming in. I just had to get up some gumption.”
Inside, I stopped to take in the living room. I guess I expected another bachelor pad. Something that mirrored Nick’s place next door, what with its framed sports magazines and rickety coffee table filled with cereal bowls.
“This is nice,” I said, glancing around at the refinished floors, the crown molding, and the well-maintained woodwork throughout.
“Thanks. Nick and I work on remodeling the house in our spare time. Eventually we’d like to sell and buy our own places.”
“Eventually,” I repeated, wondering when exactly that would be.
“Do you want a drink? I can make coffee or tea,” he said, motioning toward the couch for me to sit.
“Water,” I gasped, watching a single bead of sweat slide down between his pecs. “Water would be delicious.”
“Okay.” When he turned, I was at first grateful for the reprieve from staring at his chest, until I saw his back flexing as he strode away. It was thick, much like his chest, with muscles stacked upon muscles.
I didn’t know what the muscles were called, but I knew I’d be googling it the first chance I had.
I hope this wasn’t a bad idea, Charlotte.
Whether it was my nerves or just seeing Henry slick with sweat, I was starting to get hot. The house didn’t appear to have central air. Just an overhead fan spinning away, and the front windows cracked open. Neither was doing much to stave off the mugginess in the room.
I looked around while he was gone. Much like Gigi’s wall of fame, Henry had photos that spanned many years of his life. There were many scattered throughout the living area.
One in particular stood out.
There I stood with Henry, Emma, Nick, and Cooper. The five of us lined up boy, girl, boy, girl, boy. There were a lot of missing teeth and awkward smiles—we must’ve been seven or eight. Emma looked exactly the same, with her dark hair and eyes, and she was sporting a pointy pastel birthday hat. I could easily sort out Cooper and Nick thanks to their eyes and hair. But it was the last two kids, positioned side by side, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, that I couldn’t take my eyes from.
My index finger traced the smiling boy. “Henry.”
The bright blue eyes were easily recognizable. Other than that, there were very few similarities between this slight, gangly boy and the man who had just come up to stand behind me. A man I’d grown to …
Hearing him approach, I held my breath until he was right behind me.
“I remember this,” I whispered, closing my eyes to see the image of all of us running around the Peronis’ massive yard. “I fell in the mud that day and you didn’t want me to be embarrassed or get yelled at, so you threw yourself in after me.”
“I did,” he said, kissing the top of my head. It was a sweet gesture, not one that could be misconstrued or misinterpreted to be something other than comforting. Which it was.
I laughed, tears spilling over and plopping down onto the frame. “Sorry,” I mumbled, wiping at them ineffectively with my T-shirt.
“Charlotte,” he began, smoothing his hands down my arms. He turned me slowly and tipped my head up to look into his eyes. “Why did you come here tonight?”
I swallowed, feeling the lump stay wedged in my throat. I held out the envelope with a shaky hand. “To talk,” I said, pushing it toward him.
He backed away but kept both eyes locked on the small white envelope. It was facedown, so I flipped it over, revealing his ten-year-old handwriting.
“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice wistful. I sunk onto the couch. “You never responded.” His hurt was evident, and I quickly scrambled to course correct.
“I just found dozens of them in a box that my mother had sent to Gigi’s after she died.”
“What?” he asked disbelievingly. “You didn’t get them?”
I shook my head, feeling the uncertainty choking me. “I had no idea you were sending letters. She kept them—why, I’ll never know—and threw them in a box. She never told me or opened them. She just sent them to Gigi with a note, but even that wasn’t an explanation, really. I just found them tonight. My mother had them sent to her. They’ve been sealed away ever since.”
“What did the note to Gigi say?”
“That she wanted me to experience life outside of the bubble.”
“Why wouldn’t she give them to you?” He looked up, and that’s when I saw ten-year-old best friend Henry staring back. While I hoped that a rush of memories would accompany my remembering him, I only got a handful. It was enough to make me launch myself at him. He held me there, stroking my back as I held him close.
“I think she wanted me to believe that everyone had forgotten about me. I begged for weeks to come back, but she always found a reason to keep us away. I’ll never know why she hated this place so much. If I felt unconnected to the people here, I’d stop asking. And I did. Her plan worked. I think I remembered everyone else before you because you were the hardest person for me to remember. The memories were too painful for me because of how much I missed you.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, burying his face in my neck. “I wish I knew.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t know you missed me,” I mumbled. I felt every bit like that lost and lonely little girl who didn’t have a friend in the world.
“I cried for hours after my parents told me you had left. We knew it was coming, but I didn’t think it was going to be so soon. We had plans, in case you don’t remember. I kept hoping that you’d show up. That your desk would have you sitting in it when I came back to school on Monday.”
“I could tell from the letters that you were hurting. I’m so sorry.”
He pushed me back slightly, smoothing the hair from my face. “Where did Gigi have them?”
I smiled, holding his face in my hands. “This hidden room. I can’t explain it, really, but she must have put them in there to forget about all the hurt that anything of my mother’s brought her. I have no idea why she sent them to Gigi, but she did.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Were they in the cubbyhole?”
I laughed. “The what?”
“The passageway in the wall,” he said simply.
My jaw dropped. “You knew? Emma is going to lose her mind. She’s been looking for it for years.”
He tapped his head. “I never told anyone. Gigi made me promise.” He picked up my hand and held it against his bare chest. “It was supposed to be a secret. Only for people who needed it, she said. I think Stanley wrote about it in one of his books. It’s like an old-fashioned panic room.”
“Wh
y did she tell you, though?” I asked, but I knew the answer. It was written all over his face. I just needed him to say it.
“I think she wanted to help me feel like you were still here. She told me that you used it when your parents fought. After you left, I needed it for a while. Over the years I stopped going there, but she always said it was there if I wanted it. I can’t fit in it anymore, but back then I’d hide out in there and read. I guess it made me feel like you were still with me.”
“You haven’t been in it in years?” I asked, wondering if he had seen the ROSE boxes.
He shook his head and waved at his large body. “I tried the first day I came back to visit her after college. I almost got stuck, so I figured it was the house’s way of telling me that I didn’t need it anymore.”
“I went in tonight. I had a memory of it and stormed up the stairs to see it. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t made the whole thing up.”
“I can’t believe all this time they were hidden away,” he said, smoothing his hand down my back.
My hand flexed against his chest. When his pectorals moved beneath it, I sighed.
“Sorry, it’s a reflex,” he answered, but his eyes darted down to my lips.
Slowly, I brushed my hand across his chest again, adding a slight nail scratch that made his head fall onto the back of the sofa.
“Charlotte,” he groaned, and the sense of comfort we both were seeking turned to one of need.
“I know what you said about not starting something if I leave,” I said, lowering my lips to his chest. I placed one light kiss over his heart. “I understand why you feel that way. I just can’t help but think that we’re missing out on something special here.”
Placing another kiss on his chest, I worked my way up to his neck slowly.
His body was shaking beneath me. “Henry?” I breathed, dragging my cheek against his stubble. The ball was in his court. These were his rules, and I wasn’t going to push him.
Henry drew his hands up slowly, sliding them up my back and into my hair. My eyes met his just as he leaned forward to capture my mouth. His lips moved slowly, tasting and teasing, but never rushing.
It was delicious torture, and my mind was reeling. His hands on my hips were on fire as they stroked, pushing at my shorts slightly.